"Why wait for money to be delivered when you can rob it yourself? Saves time and effort. Enough nonsense—are you paying or not?"
Captain Nezumi (the rat-faced Marine) pushed his round glasses up his nose, voice full of greasy impatience.
Jim hesitated, expression tangled with fake indecision—the same expression Davy had seen in his memories countless times.
Davy, however, wasn't looking at Jim.
He was studying the Marines' formation—
and then, suddenly, his gaze froze.
He whipped his head toward a Marine not far away.
He knew that face.
He had seen it before in Jim's memories—
but back then the man had not worn Marine blue.
He'd worn a merchant's coat.
This was the man who sold out Davy's village.
And with that realization, memories surged like a tidal wave.
The Marines who repeatedly failed to "collect taxes."
The pirates who arrived days later to burn and slaughter.
Their strangely coordinated timing.
The uncomfortable sense that the two sides were connected.
Now the truth stood before him, naked and ugly.
These Marines weren't merely corrupt—
They worked with pirates.
Sold them intelligence.
Maybe even disguised themselves as pirates and committed raids personally.
In East Blue—the "weakest sea"—this kind of filth was frighteningly common.
Captain Nezumi chuckled, voice like squeaking metal.
"Chii~chii~ I know you made a windfall recently. Add that to your savings—one hundred million Berries shouldn't be hard. And if it is—well, I could let you owe me. Go squeeze a few villages dry and pay me afterward."
Jim, who moments ago had been staring blankly, suddenly locked eyes on Nezumi.
"No need. I did make a fortune… just not here."
"Oh?" Nezumi's rat eyes glinted. "Hidden it away? Typical pirate behavior. Where is it? How long will it take to retrieve?"
"Not far," Jim grinned. "If you're willing, we can go get it right now."
At that very moment—
Nezumi's smile froze.
His pupils contracted.
Because Jim was no longer empty-handed.
A smoking-hot pistol barrel was now pressed against the Marine captain's forehead.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The Marines surrounding them—arms folded, confident in their numbers—suddenly sprouted bullet holes in their foreheads.
Only when their bodies toppled stiffly onto the ground did the sound of the gunshots truly register.
The smell of blood spread across the docks.
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